This Dance of Theirs
by nelliesbones
Summary: Was it normal that she was his standard? The one no other woman could ever live up to? Five years into their partnership, Temperance Brennan and Seeley Booth go undercover as dancers. Warmhearted and will be M.
1. The Flaw in the Dance

_Remember "The Man in the Bear", the first dance they ever shared? This is a story about Booth and Brennan and dancing. Let's pretend "The Diamond in the Rough" is set roughly in season five. Booth and Brennan are just partners and many unspoken things are still lingering in the air._

 _I began this story when "Diamond in the Rough" aired, but never finished it. That's about to change._

THIS DANCE OF THEIRS

I. The Flaw in the Dance

For the love of God, she couldn't dance.

It wasn't that she wasn't graceful – because she was. It wasn't that she couldn't move her hips – because she could. What she _wasn't_ was pliant and she had a tendency to lead that was quite annoying. One hand trying to steer him; one step backwards that was rather an action than a reaction to his move. She was stubborn, refused to follow the rhythm, somehow trying to dictate it.

Maybe, if he hadn't been a dance teacher, Booth wouldn't have noticed, would have finished this dance with nothing but the odd sensation that something hadn't quite fit. But as a pro, he saw the flaws; saw them and noticed that it was her.

Ladies and gentlemen, the mighty Temperance Brennan had flaws.

He thought about it later, alone in his FBI issued motel room, the old mattress creaking under his weight. Balancing a beer bottle on his abs, he pictured his partner in her fancy hotel. What was she doing right now? Having a glass of wine on her terrace? Taking a bubble bath to wash off the day?

Booth rubbed his face with one palm, feeling the stubble of the late hour. One sigh later, he took a quick gulp out of his bottle to distract his line of thoughts. Thinking about her naked body lolling in a bath tub did not help. Not at all.

She was beautiful, his partner, oh yes she was. He didn't need the gazes of other men lingering on her to notice that. She was also challenging, infuriating at times, and every now and then, he thought about the old days, when it had only been a man and his gun. Easy and straightforward cop work.

 _She_ wasn't easy.

But already, just a few weeks into this partnership, he could feel the changes. Good changes; exciting changes. Harbingers of the age-old bond of faith and trust people could form. Attraction as well. He caught himself leaning in just a tad too close every once in a while, and when they had been dancing earlier tonight, her sweet and feminine scent had invaded his senses. Other women would have melted in his arms, in the soft flow of beer and music. She, however, did not give in. Never.

And, as he raised the bottle to his lips anew, Seeley Booth wondered how having her naked underneath his body would be. After all... making love... it was a dance as well. It was a rhythm, was surrendering, was moving together as one. Would she surrender? Could she?

He didn't find out, not that night in the Northern woods of Washington State. Wouldn't find out for many years.

Later, much later, Booth learned that she could lose herself in music, could let go. He was there when she rocked to "Hot Blooded", was there when she danced around on a stage, singing loud and clear that girls just wanna have fun. Was there until the bullet set his chest ablaze, until everything faded away.

Having fun, jumping around to music, she could do that. But dancing, real dancing, was about control, about giving it up and surrendering to something bigger.

He did never forget their first dance in that dusky old bar somewhere in the Northern woods, and the question lingered, popping into his brain during lunch at the Royal Diner, during Thai take-out at night and moments in between.

Would she surrender?

Could she?

To be continued...

 _Throwing it way back to the good old days, when we were still writing "How they got together" stories. Interested?_


	2. The Dress and the Trust

II. The Dress and the Trust

Years went by, and every new day, the moon returned as the sun.

Together, they grew. The trust and the faith as well as their old friend attraction. Sometimes they were close, oh so very close to crossing that last line.

He would lean in, push a few loose curls out of her face, or she would touch his arm while telling a story, her face mesmerizing him like nothing else ever could.

And it was there, the pull. One gaze that couldn't be broken, one touch that did burn.

Until, one heartbeat later, the universe shifted once more, and they were back to normal.

Normal? What was normal?

The strange ache in his chest whenever he tried to tell her about love? Talking about love was like dancing about architecture, he knew that. She didn't, or maybe she began to realize...

Was it normal that she could hear his voice over a crowded room? That she would recognize him from his X-rays alone?

Was it normal that she was his standard? The one no other woman could ever live up to?

What if someone forced them to take that last step towards each other? What if a blizzard caught them in an elevator? What if she conceived his child? Would it make them... or break them?

Life is never just one single road, there are many. Crossroads to take, choices to make. Sometimes, there's someone to walk beside you, but that's a choice as well.

And sometimes, there's a sign. Maybe you don't wanna read it at first, maybe you don't like what it's saying. And maybe you don't even recognize it as a sign.

It might be a dead body covered in sparkling diamonds. Might be an undercover operation you don't wanna do. Might be a task you're not prepared for.

But you follow it, you follow it. And, suddenly, you're not walking anymore. You're dancing. With her once again.

-BONES-

"Undercover? Please, Booth, I love going undercover!"

She gave him the pleading puppy look, and he groaned.

"Seriously, Sweets? Why is it so important to go undercover."

The psychologist shrugged.

"The 'Dance to the Top' auditions end next week."

Brennan tugged at Booth's arm, excitement written all over her face.

"We're going undercover as dancers?"

"No, Bones, we're not."

"I watched some ballroom dancing on TV, I can do that. I'll teach you how," she offered sweetly.

Sweets regarded the other man in puzzlement.

"She doesn't know?"

"Know what?"

"Booth was a dance teacher."

Gnawing her lip, Brennan processed the new information.

"That doesn't sound true."

Booth let go of a sigh.

"A, Bones, it is true. B, Sweets, why can't I just flash my badge?"

"Whatever motif there was to kill the woman, might still exist. Ballroom dancing is quite a competitive business."

Booth frowned.

"You think the guy's in danger as well?"

"Or his new partner," Sweets pointed out.

There wasn't really an argument after that, and by Friday evening, the red tape was out of the way. Buck and Wanda Moosejaw would make one more appearance. As dancers.

Booth insisted that they needed some practice before slipping into their roles and since her apartment was roomier than his, they agreed that he would drop by the same evening.

While preparing the loft for their dance lesson – pushing a few armchairs and a rug aside – Brennan pondered her feelings. There was excitement, it always was, she loved undercover operations, but this time, it wasn't as unadulterated as usual, there was something dark and heavy tainting it. Something like... disappointment?

She hadn't known.

Stopping mid-step, Brennan bit her bottom lip. She hadn't known that he had been a dance teacher.

He was a former sniper, working on his cosmic balance sheet ever since. He loved brown sugar on everything, apple pie was his favorite, and once every bone in his feet had been broken. He used to gamble. Parker was his son, Hank his grandfather. He rooted for the Flyers, believed in God, and when he laughed, tiny wrinkles appeared around his eyes. She _knew_ this man, knew him.

Still, she hadn't know. Why hadn't he told her?

The doorbell interrupted her musings, and, with a sigh, she turned around.

"I'm coming."

"Hi Bones."

"Hi yourself. You... you look good."

Her eyes widened, as she took in his outfit. He had changed into tight black pants and a white shirt, his hair ruffled after a long day. Finally, her wandering gaze found his cocky smile.

"You wanna give me a watermelon?" He smirked.

"I don't understand. I don't have a watermelon, but if you want some, I suppose we could get-"

Booth swallowed a laugh, masking his face. She was probably the only woman in America not getting a "Dirty Dancing" reference. Not that he had seen that movie... twice. He still blamed it on Rebecca.

"Never mind. Wanna invite me in?"

She blinked.

"Yes, sure. Come in. I thought we'd start with tango."

"What? No!"

"No?"

He turned around, hands on his hips.

"Listen Bones, is dancing a science?"

She frowned.

"No. Dancing is... dancing."

"Right, so who's the dance teacher and who's the scientist?"

"Booth..."

"Let's set a few ground rules here. For the next few hours, I'll be the teacher, and you'll be the student."

"I can dance!"

"Maybe, maybe not. Still, teacher," one finger touched his chest. "And student." The very same finger tapped her sternum.

Temperance Brennan hadn't been a student in a very long time. And even though one part of her couldn't help but protest at the notion of being _his_ student, a soft shiver was moving her belly.

-BONES-

She couldn't dance.

For the next few minutes the memories flew back to him, and her living room turned into one dim-lit bar as old as the hills of Washington State. Just like all those years ago, she was tense in his arms, her feet fighting with his for dominance.

He tried a few twists, a few steps before shaking his head ever so slightly.

"This doesn't work."

"What doesn't work?"

She was panting softly, her breath grazing his cheek.

"Bones, you can't dance."

"I beg to differ!"

"Sorry, but you really can't dance. You're stiff and stubborn."

"Don't throw alliterations at me."

"Yeah, don't be so _alliterative_."

"I'm performing the right moves."

He wiggled his head.

"You're not feeling it."

"It?"

"Yeah. The rhythm, the dance, da-zuuum!"

He twisted on one heel, stopping right before her with surprising grace.

"Da-zum? I don't know what that means."

Taking one backwards step, Booth scrutinized her from head to toe. She was still wearing her work clothes, jeans and a red shirt. Tapping his nose, he circled her slowly.

"Remove your clothes."

She blinked hard, caught utterly off guard.

" _What_?"

"You're wearing the wrong stuff. Don't you have a dress? Something soft and flowing?"

Brennan looked down at herself and shrugged.

"I think so. Do you want to pick one?"

He nodded.

"Sure."

Despite all those years, he'd never been in her bedroom before. It didn't surprise him that the room was clear and soothing, almost reasonable – just like the woman who'd furnished it. Booth tried not to stare at the bed with its cream-white sheets and focused on the closet instead. Taking in its sheer size, the corners of his mouth twitched.

"After all, you're just a girl."

Raising a forefinger, Brennan shook her head.

"I travel with one bag."

"Alright, Ms. One-Bag, move aside."

She grunted, but opened her closet and stepped away.

His fingers brushed the garments, smooth and expensive underneath his fingertips, and something... _happened_. He recognized one dress and another, saw pictures in his mind of her wearing them. A hint of her very own scent lingered in the fabric, caressing his nose. Booth remembered that green made her eyes stand out, and that her skin looked even paler when she was wearing white.

Looking up, he found her watching him in a curious way, and he cleared his throat before he began to search for a good dress in earnest. He stilled for a moment as one crimson red piece caught his attention, thought about another undercover job in Vegas and that she hadn't worn a bra while wearing this dress...

He swallowed hard against the sudden lump in his throat, as he let go of crimson red with a gentle caress. It wasn't long until he hit pay dirt. It was a simple black dress, soft and cozy, and he had never seen it before. He pulled it out, handing it to her.

"This one."

She accepted the dress with a quiet nod, and just when he was about to give her some privacy, he caught a glimpse of her eyes. His heart leaped in his chest. He knew their blue. He had seen her crying, had seen her laughing. But... he had never seen her eyes so dark before.

-BONES-

When he was gone, finally gone, her cheeks were burning with heat. Stripping down to her underwear, Brennan tried to make sense of the unfamiliar intensity that was consuming her. He had chosen her costumes before, had actually complimented her on her _hotness_ , but even that jaw-dropping moment in heir hotel room back then in Vegas had been almost chaste in comparison to _this_.

This.

What was _this_?

He had merely touched her clothes, not her skin. It shouldn't feel so intimate, shouldn't affect her so deeply.

Grabbing the soft black garment, she pulled it over her head, and the dress cascaded down like a waterfall. It was hugging her body snugly, the simple hem playing around her calves.

She realized immediately that he had chosen well. The elastic fabric gave her freedom to move without restraints, but beyond that, it made her feel really good as well. The cleavage wasn't too deep, the cut not too tight, but, nonetheless, she felt feminine wearing it, almost sensual.

Stepping in front of her full-length mirror, she pulled her hair into a messy bun, taking in the strange woman that was her. Soft tunes tore her out of her musings, and, one glance later, she was back on her way to him. She could do this. After all, it was just dancing.

It wasn't just dancing. Rubbing his face, Booth was pacing her living-room. The fabric he had just touched would soon caress her body. He stilled abruptly. She was probably half-naked right now. Damn it... It was just... seeing her dresses on display had somehow hit him with unexpected tenderness. It wasn't fair that a closet full of clothes could do that to him.

Sighing one more time, he chose one disc, clicking through the tracks until the one he wanted filled the room with its melody.

 _Moon River, wider than a mile, I'm crossing you in style some day..._

"Better?"

He turned around at the hesitant quality of her voice, and warmth spread out in his chest. It was like snow on a meadow, like dew drops in the early morning light. Simple but stunning. The dress was by no means revealing, but he had never seen her so beautiful before. Or maybe he had, but chosen not to remember.

"Yeah."

His voice was raspy somehow, she noticed.

"Take off your shoes."

Her eyes widened, but she didn't protest.

"It heightens your sensitivity," he explained nonetheless.

She came towards him on bare feet, and without heels, she was a few inches smaller than he was used to. He noticed it and filed it away, touched by the same tenderness that had moved him only minutes ago.

"This is a waltz, Bones. It's not the most exciting dance, but it possesses a simple beauty."

"I can-"

He silenced her with his finger on her lips. Soft, he noticed, so soft...

"There's no room for arguments in this dance. It's about achieving perfect harmony, about moving as one. Can you follow my lead?"

She nodded breathlessly.

"It's not you, it's not me. It's _us_."

Taking her hand, he pulled her in the right position, and for the briefest moment, Brennan thought that he would hug her.

"Ready?"

"Yes."

"Right foot forward. Follow my lead."

And follow his lead she did. Almost...

"Ouch."

" _Sorry_."

He sighed, shaking off impatience.

"Bones, do you trust me?"

"You know that I do."

"Then _trust_ me."

"Why haven't you told me?"

The words were out before she had a chance to stop them.

"Told you what?"

"That you've been a dance teacher..."

Vulnerability washed over her face, and she avoided his eyes.

"I thought we were friends."

"Bones... We are. Friends."

With a sigh, he pulled her closer until her head rested on his shoulder.

"I don't like talking about my mom. She left, you know?"

"So did my parents, but you made me talk about them all the time," came her soft response.

He held her silently for a while, thinking about his own double standard, deciding that she was right.

"Dancing was our thing," he finally told her. "She was so lively, so vibrant. My dad didn't understand her, and it scared him. He tried to extinguish her spark. She left before he could. But only barely."

Her fingers rubbed the small of his back in a soothing motion.

"I didn't dance after that. Until college. I needed money. Remembered what she taught me. Remembered how he hated it."

He was swaying her gently now, moving them to the soft flow of music, but, lost in his tale, she didn't even notice it.

"My mom was wonderful, Bones, but she wasn't strong. She went away and left us alone with him."

"I'm so sorry, Booth."

His cheek caressed her temple.

"Don't be. Dancing... that's a good memory. Look up."

"What?"

"Look at me."

Raising her head, she blinked, laughing out in surprise.

"We're dancing!"

"Yeah, we are."

Unbeknownst to her, they had slipped into waltz time, and now that she wasn't thinking about it, her body was following his lead effortlessly... like two drifters off to see the world.

"Don't think it to death, just dance," he whispered with a smile, and she lifted her chin, displaying the elegant curve of her neck.

He was leading her with his whole body, as if she was weightless, and Brennan could feel the tunes of "Moon River" in her toes. Her dress was flowing around her calves with every step and his hand on her back was anchoring her with its warmth. It was perfect. Almost too perfect. It was...

Something on her face changed, and he noticed it immediately.

"Trust me," he whispered. And: "Don't try to control it."

"Booth..."

"It's just me, Bones."

And that was the problem, wasn't it?

-BONES-

It had gone to hell in a handbasket after that – not that she would get the idiom – and three hours later, Brennan was soothing her aching body with a hot shower.

He was a good teacher, but in the end, even his patience had been wearing thin.

Standing under the cascading water, the scent of cinnamon lingering in the steam, she thought about his hands on her, his gentle guidance.

 _It's about achieving perfect harmony, about moving as one._

Moving as one... they had done that for one brief dance, and she had gotten a glimpse of how it could be. She had caught herself only seconds afar from losing herself in the moment, and it had scared her to death. How utterly he could move her.

If she gave up control... she would fall, and the mere idea that he might not be there catching her was almost as daunting as the notion that he might be.

It was a riddle that she couldn't solve.

And she had nothing but three days to figure it out.

To be continued...

 _I started this story because I loved the idea of Booth and Brennan undercover as dancers, but I really didn't like the episode "Diamond in the Rough". It made me cringe in a painful way (still does). Why did they make her so clumsy? I've always liked our leading lady on her pedestal – you know, never getting a B, adept at martial arts, fluent in Chinese... Seeing her god-awful dance moves made me wonder... Is she really that good? And I prefer thinking that she is._


	3. The Novelty in the Approach

III. The Novelty in the Approach

She woke up in twisted sheets, her body aching in an unfamiliar way. Muscles she hadn't used in quite some time protested, and Brennan rolled onto her stomach with a groan, as everything came back to her. Why was it so hard to dance with him? She knew that she trusted him. Once he had thrown knives at her, and she hadn't even flinched. This... this was way more dangerous somehow. But why?

Lifting her head, she blew auburn curls out of the way, trying to catch a glimpse of her alarm clock. Only 8 am. Booth hadn't been too enthusiastic about it, but he had promised to be back around noon to go on with their dance lesson.

He wasn't giving up. And neither was she.

Brennan was grimly determined to put the morning to a good use. But first... coffee.

-BONES-

He could still smell her on his skin. Lingering somewhere between wake and sleep, Booth was holding her in his arms once again, but this time the sensation wasn't clouded by frustration. She was soft and pliant and perfect, her body moving in unison with his.

He awoke with a sigh, a smile, but it faded soon. It was morning, excellent and fair. Only two more days until they had to audition, had to convince the jury that a dance contest was exactly where Buck and Wanda belonged.

So far, they blended in like a snowman in hell.

It wasn't that she didn't know how to move her feet, no, the simple technique wasn't even the biggest problem. He could work around that. Dancing with her was dangerous somehow, even though Booth couldn't really put his finger on the reason why. They needed to get comfortable with each other. _More_ comfortable.

Kicking his blanket aside, Booth rubbed his scratchy face with one palm, yawning wholeheartedly.

A plan began to form in his mind.

Coffee, he needed coffee.

-BONES-

"Hiya, Bones, it's 12 o' clock sharp."

He sashayed into her loft, carrying a big brown shopping bag. She ogled it suspiciously.

"Hello Booth, it's good to see you."

"I," he plopped onto her couch, "I wonder... We've pulled off the circus operation and Vegas. Everyday, I trust you with my life and I've got your back. Why," he threw his hands into the air rather dramatically, "why can't we share a dance, Bones?"

"We can."

"Yeah, but it looks like crap. For some reason, this isn't working."

Her eyes went very wide.

"You want to give up?"

"And tell Sweets that we can't dance together? Nah." Booth shook his head. "That insults me as a former dance teacher, as your partner and as a man. I think we just need a different approach."

Opening his shopping bag, he presented her with a bottle, and now she was looking at him as if he'd lost his mind.

"I highly doubt that intoxication will improve our performance."

"I don't want to get drunk, Bones. Neither should you. But I think we have to get more comfortable with each other. In a," he gulped, "physical way."

 _I don't know what that means._

The words vibrated in her head, but didn't make it past her tongue. Goosebumps in the wake of his touch. Guy hugs that happened far too often. And did guys even hug? It dawned on her that, for once, she knew exactly what he was talking about. Touching him was exciting, addictive even.

She chose her words carefully.

"And what exactly do you have in mind? A drinking game?"

"Nope. Just a glass or two to loosen up. Then this." He pulled a tiny bottle of massage oil out of his shopping bag. "I bet you're achy and stiff from yesterday's lesson."

"You want to give me a massage?"

Suddenly lost for words, he nodded, feeling rather stupid.

"Bones, I... I swear... Look, this made perfect sense at home. You know, it's not about the steps or the rhythm. We can do that. What we lack is the feeling, the flow. We're way too tense."

Turning around, she walked away from him, and he jumped onto his feet, already regretting his plan.

"I'm sorry, Bones, don't leave."

Her voice was calm and clear. "Glasses, we need glasses and a corkscrew."

"Uh, you agree then?"

"I agree that this is harder than it should be, and even though your proposition is rather unorthodox, I'm feeling a little uptight and," one deep breath, "could benefit from a massage."

His heart sank into his stomach. He would touch her. What had he done?

-BONES-

This was not what she'd expected. Red wine. Scented massage oil. And one could only guess what else there was in his bag. It unsettled her, this thing that was happening, but Brennan had a lot of faith in Booth. Besides... backing down from a challenge?

So far, it wasn't half-bad, she mused while sipping her wine, half-bad at least compared to yesterday's dance lesson. The wine was tasteful and had provided her with a pleasant buzz. The only thing troubling her was the funny look in his eyes.

"Take off your shirt," he finally said, and even though she had agreed on this, his request shocked her somehow.

Looking down rather shyly, Brennan thought about the bra she was wearing. Was it revealing? What would he think? And why did it even matter? Swallowing hard, she played with the hem of her shirt. Blue, it was blue, she suddenly remembered. Pale blue cotton, no lace. Avoiding his eyes, she pulled the shirt over her head in one fluid move.

There was no mistaking his sharp intake of breath, and somehow the sound gave her courage to regard his face. Flushed, was it flushed?

Booth tried very hard not to stare at his partner too openly, but Holy Mother Mary, her _breasts_. Only a few inches of fabric separated them from his gaze, and his head was spinning somehow.

He cleared his throat, and met her eyes. _Dark_. They'd turned dark again.

"I," he tried. "You..."

"My structure is fairly appealing," she finally said, helping him out.

"Jaw-dropping. The word you're looking for is jaw-dropping," he couldn't help but reveal, and she tensed visibly.

Booth squinted, pinching his nose bridge with two fingers.

"What was I thinking? I'm sorry, Bones."

His unease turned her brave somehow. Crossing her arms in front of her chest, she smiled softly.

"Suddenly the prospect of a dance doesn't feel so awkward anymore, does it?"

He chuckled, and they managed to survive the moment. Her yoga mat was fetched and unrolled in front of the couch. Five minutes later, Brennan was lying on her stomach, milky white skin and auburn curls spread out in front of him.

Booth warmed a few drops of oil in his palms before sending a quick prayer heavenwards. Then he reached out. Tentative at first, he mapped the skin of her back, her shoulders, her upper arms. Silky strands of hair were in the way, and he pushed them aside, baring her nape. Skin and muscles, it's just skin and muscles, he reminded himself, but he couldn't help but notice the perfect feel of her under his touch. Soft, she was way too soft and so warm. Oh, goosebumps?

"Are you cold, Bones?"

She shook her head, but couldn't speak, could only feel.

Rough, his hands were so rough on her skin, creating the perfect friction. He was stroking her almost too tenderly, and she was _this_ close to not standing it, when his fingers finally concentrated on the tightly wound knots in her flesh, kneading firmly.

"Yes," she sighed, for this might be way out of her comfort zone, but her muscles were hurting and she truly yearned for a good massage.

Her body went pliant under his hands, as he worked the tension out of her, and with every minute, it got less and less awkward. She surrendered herself to his ministrations, allowing him to make her feel better. He was good at this, she realized, and before her brain could filter it, she blurted the words.

"Why are you so good at this?"

She regretted her question immediately, as former girlfriends sprang to her mind, but he surprised her once more.

"Sports. Sore muscles are the drawback of hockey. Better to know a remedy."

Brennan laughed, "So you're doing each other's backs in the locker room?"

"My lips are sealed."

He was working on a particularly painful spot in her shoulder, as his oily fingers grazed the strap of her bra, leaving a stain.

"Crap. I've smudged your bra."

"Subtle, very subtle, but I'm not taking it off," came her dry reply.

" _No_!" he exclaimed in shock. "I did _not_ do that on purpose, and I don't want you to."

Laughter shook her back, and she turned her head around, throwing him a cute grin.

"Who's tense now, Booth?"

She'd thrown him off balance with her joke, but he recovered quickly.

"You're an evil woman."

"Don't worry about the oil, Booth. I'll just put it in the laundry."

"I didn't know if you could put it in the washing machine."

"There's a program for delicates."

"Delicates..."

"Booth?"

"Hmm?"

"You're right, lying half-naked in my living-room and talking about my underwear really makes me comfortable. We should be splendid dancers by now."

He recovered again. But only barely.

-BONES-

"The rumba is probably the most sensual and romantic one among the ballroom dances. Good chemistry increases the impact of the movements. Quick-quick-slow. Quick-quick-slow. You've danced rumba before?"

She nodded eagerly. This part, finally, made sense to her. She and him, fully dressed, slow music filling the space of her loft.

"It's more than a dance, Bones. It's a flirt, a tease. A man calling out. A woman responding. Giving, receiving, surrendering. It's about trust. You trust me, right?"

"Of course."

"Good, because I've got _this_."

He pulled one more item out of his shopping bag. A scarf, silken and midnight blue. Her eyebrows arched up in a silent question.

"What do you want from me?"

"I want you to let me hold you. I want you to _feel_ it."

"You want to blindfold me?" she whispered hauntingly.

Swallowing against the lump in his throat, he nodded. Emotions twisted her face, as he watched her thinking. Giving up her sense of vision was a lot to ask for, but it was _him_ asking. Finally, she made up her mind, shrugging hesitantly.

"At least I won't be naked."

It was worse than being naked, she realized a few minutes later. Worse and so much better at the same time. Everything around her was black velvet, and the loss of her vision heightened her other senses dramatically. She was one with the music, one with the moment.

One with him.

There was no resistance in her movements, nothing holding her back. All that was left were sensations. She could feel warmth flowing from his fingers right into her skin, and she could feel even more. Strength, there was strength in the way he was guiding her, and there was tenderness as well. Following his lead… it was so easy, and her feet matched his step for step.

Brennan wondered. Was it supposed to be this way? Was it the rumba or was it Booth?

The music faded away, but part of her was reluctant to stop. The feeling must have been mutual for Booth continued to hold her, patiently waiting for the next song to start. What she didn't realize was that he simply didn't trust himself to look into her eyes right now. He might be the brave one, the gambler, but he'd never danced a rumba like this before. He'd never had his heart beating in his throat like this, had never been so close to a woman.

It's a dance, just a dance, he reminded himself. Except that it wasn't.

Another song came to an end, and following a sudden impulse, Booth lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles.

"Oh," she whispered, blinking behind the safety of her blindfold. Then, "That was good, wasn't it?"

"Yes," he rasped, "that was very good."

Lifting his hands, he untied the knot behind her head, freeing her from the dark blue scarf. Brennan tilted her head, squinting against the sudden brightness. She laughed out nervously.

"I'm feeling weird. People and emotions used to confuse me all the time, but I've gotten so much better. This, however," she lifted her arms rather helplessly, "this is so puzzling. It's supposed to be about dancing, but I'm getting strange signals. What's wrong with me, Booth?"

Reaching out to her, grabbing her hand was a natural as breathing. Booth shook his head.

"It's not just you, Bones. I'm feeling it as well and I… I don't know what that means."

She ogled him with incredulous eyes.

"You don't?"

Booth shrugged, offering her a lopsided grin. "Maybe it's just the rumba?"

Brennan frowned, but tried to accept his verdict nonetheless.

"You wanna dance some more?"

"Absolutely. Let's try it without the scarf, shall we?"

So they danced.

Magic didn't happen anymore, this afternoon in Washington DC, but they managed to find a common rhythm.

To be continued…


	4. The Bricks in the Wall

IV. The Bricks in the Wall

Ethnochoreology is the study of dance through the application of a number of disciplines such as anthropology, musicology or ethnography. It's not only about cataloging dance forms or the role of dancing in cultural history, the field wants to apply academic thought to why people dance and what it means.

Brennan shut down her laptop with a sigh. Two hours of research later, she was none the wiser. Finally caving in, she reached for her cell. Angela answered on the second ring.

"Tell me about dancing."

"Well, dancing usually refers to moving one's feet or body rhythmically in a pattern of steps, especially to the accompaniment of music. And hello to you, too."

Brennan rolled her eyes.

"Funny, very funny."

Angela chuckled softly.

"What goes around, comes around. What do you really want to know?"

"I… I can't even tell."

"Why don't you start at the beginning?"

A pause, then: "Booth and I have been dancing in preparation for an undercover operation."

"And?"

"And it's weird. Why is it so weird? We're partner. Friends," the scientist added with determination. "We've been running before, and dancing is a similar exercise. It shouldn't be so weird."

"Well, Bren, in my experience, dancing only feels weird if you do it with the right person. If it's the right person, it can turn your brain into mush and your knees to jelly."

"So you're proposing again that Booth and I should have sex?"

"First of all, it's not me suggesting it, but your body. And second," Angela faltered, her voice turning serious. "I think it's not about sex anymore. I think you know it, too. And that's what scares you. What is he to you? Think about it."

 _Think about it._

He was her partner, her friend. He was an outstanding man, both on the in- and outside. If you peeled away the many layers of their relationship, it would come down to one simple core: He was the only man she truly trusted. Brennan had allowed herself to rely on him. He was her constant, grounding her just like her work did. Of course, it didn't hurt that he was so extremely handsome. She had seen him covered in human remains, she had seen him wearing a tuxedo – the sight of him always filled her with joy. Happy, he made her happy, she realized.

And she wanted to make him happy, too.

-BONES-

He couldn't shake off yesterday's pictures, couldn't forget the sight of her splayed out in front of him, her fair skin under his hands. He'd gone for a run, he had taken a shower, but every time he closed his eyes, Booth could see her. He didn't even desire her sexually (well, maybe he did, but it was way more than that), he just wanted to take her in his arms. And the biggest problem was: He wanted to keep her there.

Tonight, they would dance again. Booth didn't trust himself to be alone with her a third day in a row, so he had suggested a tango club downtown.

Tango was passion on high heels, but its sensuality was blunt, didn't lure you into a trap like rumba did. They might actually be able to survive the tango.

-BONES-

They agreed to meet in the club.

Not picking her up seemed wrong somehow, but Booth didn't want to operate under the false impression of being on a date. This was work. Not their usual standard issue FBI work, but work nonetheless. They were professionals, they could do this.

He was walking on confidence, as he entered the little club, but then he saw his partner waiting at the bar, and reason whooshed out of his mind.

Brennan was wearing that red piece of sin, the Roxy dress from Vegas. His heart skipped a beat and another one, as her smokey eyes met his over the packed dance floor.

He wasn't prepared for this; was neither prepared for the look on her face nor his body's reaction to her. A myriad of thoughts scrambled in his brain, as Booth was searching for a life line. Finally, his desperate mind grasped an idea. It was the only way to survive the night. Making his way to her, he tried to regain his composure, tried to calm his racing heart. He stopped just a few inches in front of her and leaned in, following the curve of her neck with his nose. He inhaled deeply, and her expensive scent hit his nostrils.

His voice was dark, as he finally spoke.

"Roxy, I presume?"

Excitement mingled with a sting of disappointment, as she understood his intentions. Tonight, they wouldn't be Booth and Brennan.

"Wanda," she finally offered, raising her hand.

He took it, brushing the back of her hand with his lips.

"May I ask for this dance?"

"You may."

He ogled her boldly from head to toe. Nine inch heels, long legs, soft hips, deep cleavage, red lips, wild curls.

"These boots ain't made for dancing, Wanda."

Tilting her head, she met his eyes, and something crackled in the air between them.

"There's only one way to find out."

Hell, Booth was in hell. Or maybe it was heaven, and did it even matter? Turned out, she could indeed dance in those heels. Turned out, she had no problem following his lead. She was every definition of tango, and the part of him that wanted to audition tomorrow rejoiced. It was a very small part, though, because the rest was simply overwhelmed.

He was afraid to stop dancing, afraid not to stop as well. Eventually, they needed fresh air. The crowd parted for them, and hungry eyes followed her from the dance floor. Booth wrapped his arm around her hip, pulling her close. It was a primeval language understood by every man around.

Back off, she's mine.

Grabbing two beer bottles, he led her to a side exit, and suddenly the dark hour found them in a semi-lit back alley. Hot, she was so hot. Red lips closed around the bottleneck, and she tilted her head, swallowing quickly. Booth and Brennan were nowhere to be seen, as he invaded her personal space, backing her up against the wall.

"Wanda?" he asked breathlessly, and she nodded, giving him every permission he needed.

 _Not like this_ , was his last coherent thought before his lips met hers, brushing and taking and feeling. She moaned against his mouth, and his bottle hit the floor. Hers followed shortly after, and then he was crashing into her with the speed of light.

Hands and tongues and heat.

He was lost, utterly lost in her. Cupping her thighs, he lifted her a few inches, nestling deeper between her parted legs. Even fully clothed, he could feel her heat. His lips found the sensitive skin of her neck, sucking firmly, finally marking her.

He wanted her; wanted her more than he'd ever wanted anyone in his life before.

Bricks. The bricks in the wall dug into her back, but she didn't really care. He was everything she could feel; his solid frame pressing her against the wall, his tongue on her skin, the essence of his maleness so hard and hot between her legs.

Her hands tunneled in his hair. She had always wanted to do that; that and so much more. He chose that moment to suck her earlobe between his teeth, and shivers ran down her spine, concentrating low in her belly. Oh God, she needed him.

Deep down, he knew that she was dessert, that he should savor every second of this; of _her_. Instead he was devouring her like a man starving, unable to stop. Not that she wanted him to stop, no, she was urging him on with lips and hands and pleas.

Reaching between their bodies and opening his zipper happened in the blink of an eye. Then he was in her hand, and she squeezed almost reverently.

"Perfect," she breathed, and he was losing control rapidly.

Tugging her panties aside, he caressed her intimately for the first time ever, and already the need for consummation became overpowering.

Overpowering him, overpowering her, overpowering the moment. Her head fell back, hitting the hard wall, as his fingers played her like an instrument he knew quite well.

Good, this was so very good. He was. They were.

Then he was at her opening, entering her sweet by sweet inch until he was filling her completely; until the word "overpowering" got a whole new meaning. Lifting her head, she opened heavy-lidded eyes, and right before he started to move within her, right before they lost themselves under the pretext of Buck and Wanda, a moment of honesty was found. Her hair was tousled, her breath labored, but she was looking at him with eyes he knew so well. For the fraction of a moment, urgency mingled with tenderness, and he was about to say something, _anything_ , but then she closed the distance between their lips with an open-mouthed kiss, and the moment was gone.

Tilting his hips, he stared to move. Pulling himself out of her before pushing all the way back in. She was snug, warm, wet, and everything was reduced to this very moment. Connected, they were so intimately connected. He set a rhythm, and she followed easily, meeting him stroke for stroke.

Kisses followed gasps followed moans followed kisses. In and out. In and out.

And suddenly she knew; knew things she had never understood before. Everything made sense now, _so much sense._

She surprised him by crying out, and her whole body tensed and shuddered in his arms, sucking him into a whirlwind of sensations. When she opened her eyes, their blue was as churning as the ocean. He was a goner and he knew it. His teeth sunk into her shoulder, as he came, and he almost crushed her with the force of his embrace.

Or perhaps it was her crushing him.

-BONES-

Oh God, what had he done?

They disentangled with little dignity, rearranging their clothes and thoughts. His body was utterly satiated, pleasantly humming, but cold fear was reaching for his heart. What had he done?

Brennan was watching him carefully, and it wasn't hard to sense his mood. She'd always accepted his expertise when it came to matters of the heart, but for once it seemed as if he needed to be saved by her. Her stomach knotted, but she took a deep breath and tried to laugh.

"Well, Buck," she uttered, "that was something."

His eyes flew to her face, and relief mingled with gratitude, as he understood what she was trying to do. She was giving him an easy way out, pointing towards the neon green exit sign. Buck and Wanda.

Leaning in, he placed a lingering kiss to her cheek.

"It's been a pleasure, Wanda."

She nodded sincerely.

"It's getting late, I should go. I believe there's an audition tomorrow."

"You need a lift?"

"No, thank you. Bye, Buck."

"Goodnight, Wanda."

She turned around on her sinful heels, her hips swaying gently. Booth watched her walk away, and the sight of his beautiful partner in her crumpled dress tore his stupid heart apart.

"Bones," he finally called, and upon hearing her name, the real one, she turned around, facing him with smeared make-up and unruly hair.

His mouth opened and closed again, and he was just standing there, regarding her with wide eyes. Tilting her head, she gave him a soft smile, opening her arms for him. Closing the distance to her, he fell into her embrace, scooping her up.

"Bones," he said again, chanting her name into her hair, and she pressed her nose into the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply.

 _I'm sorry, don't leave, that was a mistake, let's do it again..._

"I... I don't know what to say," he managed eventually, and she burrowed her face even deeper into his shirt.

"Booth," she finally murmured, lifting her head. "This is not us. But... _it is_. Maybe, Booth and Brennan needed help. Maybe that's why Buck and Wanda came along. I don't know. I... I'm not good at this. But... I feel close to you. It's scary and unfamiliar, but something has changed. Intimately."

He swayed her gently in his arms, surprised by her wise words.

"You're way too smart."

She smiled a little bit.

"Someone has to be."

"Bones... You're important to me, in fact, you're so important that it scares the shit out of me. You're my partner, and our work is crucial. We save lives. Whatever we do, we can't damage that. When we first met, after you kissed and left me in the rain, we could barely talk, let alone work with each other. I don't want that ever again. I need you in my life."

She nodded in his arms.

"I agree."

"You know, I'm not a gambler anymore."

"Let's not gamble then. Let's just," she shrugged, "follow the evidence. Let's see where it takes us."

Follow the evidence, it sounded so easy, but...

"What exactly are you offering?"

"You told me that every once in a while, two people meet and there's that spark. Here we are, Booth, and this is our spark. I'm offering you a chance."

-BONES-

They'd had sex.

Brennan was lying in her bed, unable to sleep. The sheets felt cool and crisp compared to her overheated, oversensitive body. In the moonlit room, she could still see the dress on the floor, right where she had stripped down. The red dress.

" _Why did you pick it? The Roxy dress?"_

" _There was something in your eyes, when you saw it in my closet the other day. Something on your face when I was wearing it back then. Roxy was fearless. Maybe I needed 'fearless'. Maybe you needed it."_

Her lips were sore from his beard stubble and she could still feel him inside of her. She hadn't even showered. Brennan wasn't proud of it, but she hadn't had the heart to wash off his scent. Not yet. She wondered if he had.

They'd had sex.

Despite all his lectures about making love, they'd had steamy, quick and fully dressed sex. Between him, her and the brick wall, there hadn't been much space for romance. Afterwards, she'd almost walked away.

" _I'm glad you called my name."_

" _I had to. I never should have called you anything else. You're dessert, Bones."_

She didn't know why she was dessert. (What kind of dessert? Maybe pie?) However, the sincerity in his eyes had calmed her, and she hadn't even realized how much she needed to be calmed. Deep down, very deep down, a small part of her might have known all along that she and Booth were more than partners, more than even friends. But she'd never thought that she, Brennan, would be the brave one.

He'd looked at her like a deer in the headlight, and his fear had given her courage. "What is he to you?" Angela had asked, and tonight she'd gotten another answer to that question.

To be continued...


	5. The Love in Them

V. The Love in Them

They'd had sex.

Sleep was hard to find, as Booth was overcome with memories. Her scent, her utter softness, the perfect fit of her body around his. He'd once asked himself if she could surrender, and tonight he'd found out how gravely he'd underestimated her.

For she had been grace and passion and bravery.

He'd slept with Temperance Brennan, and he'd done it all wrong. When it came to women, he'd never been a coward, had always put his heart where his mouth was. "But she's more than just a woman, and you know it", a little voice barged in. She was the big one, the one that could mean everything.

Back in the days, when he'd spent his nights around pool and poker tables, he'd often fished for the last note in his pocket. He remembered the daunting feeling of having everything on the table, of going all in. The same feeling was keeping him awake right now, except that there was more at stake than his dollars. This time, Ladies and Gentlemen, his heart was on the table.

-BONES-

Morning came, and in the light of a new day, an FBI agent and his Forensic Anthropologist partner went undercover as dancers. She'd installed a little webcam to keep Sweets in the loop, and unbeknownst to them, the whole Jeffersonian gang gathered around Angela's big screen to watch their performance.

"Buck and Wanda Moosejaw with the Argentine Tango."

Polite applause accompanied Booth and Brennan's entrance.

Cam whistled.

"Booth looks hot."

"And Dr. B. should take off her lab coat more often."

"Wow, they _can_ dance."

"Booth has been a dance teacher."

"'You know, the best place to practice lifts is in the water.'"

"Aw, Johnny and Baby!"

"Am I missing something here?"

"That's 'Dirty Dancing', Dr. Hodgins."

"Wow, Sweets, I hadn't pegged you as a fan."

"Not a fan, Dude. I'm just getting a pop culture reference."

"No, you're getting girl talk."

"Whew, have you seen that look? Booth is undressing her with his eyes."

"They surely can convey the passion."

"Their acting is remarkable."

"Well, or maybe they're not acting that much."

"He's invading her dance space. Look at that! Way too close!"

"I'm not a pro, but should tango look like foreplay?"

"Oh my God, they had sex."

"What?"

"No, Angie, no way you're getting this from a dance."

"50 bucks on 'sex'."

"Cam!"

"That's very unethical. Also, 50 bucks on 'no sex'."

"Look, they are done."

"Ha, invading her dance space. The judge thinks so as well."

"28 points. Not that bad. It's enough to keep them in the game."

"Please, don't judge me, but I want to continue watching them."

"No judging. However, we're highly trained professionals. And their friends. So, don't we have a diamond-encrusted skeleton somewhere?"

"Formerly diamond-encrusted."

"It worked, then?"

"King of the Lab."

"Self-proclaimed."

"So what? Some of the best kings were."

"Did Wendell already find cause of death?"

"Yes. Her neck was broken."

-BONES-

"We did it."

Brennan gave her partner a beaming smile, her face flushed from the exercise and his proximity. Pulling her into a half-hug, Booth smiled right back.

"Yes, we did."

"Although celebrating might be premature since we don't have our killer, yet."

"Yet, Bones, yet. The rest, that's just cop work. We can do that. Let's mingle with the crowd, talk to some people, poke here, rattle there."

"Poke and rattle?"

"Yeah, you know – let's do our thing."

And that's what they did.

Among dancers and sparkling costumes, they found ambition, oppression and passion. In the end, love had killed their victim; a very twisted, very wrong plan born out of love. The very same afternoon, they arrested the boyfriend. Brennan dismissed Booth's offer to give her a lift. She didn't want to watch the interrogation, would instead catch up with the Jeffersonian. Later, they'd talk later.

The confession was almost too easy to get, and Booth felt kind of sorry for the star-crossed lovers. Still, they'd taken a life; done something that can't be undone.

He used the shower in the FBI gym before finally hitting speed dial on his cell.

"Technically, you have not reached Temperance Brennan, but if you leave a message, it will reach her. Me. Temperance Brennan."

"Hey, Bones, the guy confessed. Where are you? Let's celebrate."

She didn't call him back, and after he ran out of paperwork and ideas, Boot decided to look for her instead. The traffic was light, and ten minutes later, he entered the Medico Legal Lab.

He was spotted from afar, and a group of scientists started to whistle.

"Hey, the webcam footage was confidential."

Hodgins shook his head while barely containing his amusement.

"We had to watch as well. You know... insect activity."

"Man, you're just throwing a buzz word my way."

"Maybe. Maybe not. Angela is interested in dance lessons, by the way."

"Where's Bones? Did you harass her as well?"

"Noooo, we respect her way too much."

"Funny. Very funny. Where is she? In her office?"

"No, she left."

"She left?" Booth stopped mid-step. "Why? When?"

Hodgins' smile faded away, and he watched the other man with sudden concern.

"About an hour ago? She said she was done. Everything alright?"

"I don't know... but I will find out."

Booth turned around on his heel.

"See ya."

"Man, definitely sleeping together," the scientist muttered under his breath.

-BONES-

Why had she left; left without calling him?

Booth could have driven the route to her apartment with eyes closed, but today he broke his own record time. He let go of a relieved breath, as he saw her car waiting in its usual spot outside her building. Soon, however, relief was replaced with another kind of anxiety. Why hadn't she called?

He took the stairs instead of the elevator, and soon his knock was heard in her apartment. It cut into her apprehension along with his voice.

"Bones?

Even though she had somehow expected him, his arrival caught her off guard. Slowly, she made her way to the door and, upon opening it, Brennan experienced a sudden touch of shyness.

"Hi."

He closed his eyes for a moment.

"Thank God, you're okay."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry you."

She stepped aside to let him into her apartment, and he noticed her freshly showered scent. Her hair was still damp, her face scrubbed clean without a trace of make-up. Wearing simple leggings and an oversized shirt, she looked so unlike the woman he had _met_ last night, and every fiber of his being reacted to the sight of her so young and undisguised.

His instinct was to reach out to her, but she was clearly averting her gaze. Booth frowned. Had he done something wrong – something beside the obvious? Last night, he had called her Wanda and taken her against a brick wall. She had accepted it. Afterwards, she hadn't fled, had offered him a chance instead. And today, they'd caught a murderer. The whole operation – albeit unusual – had been a success. So why couldn't she look at him?

"Talk to me," he finally said, and she inhaled a shuddered breath.

"Love..."

"Yes?"

"Love is a mess. Makes people a mess."

He was still lost.

"Okay. What exactly are you talking about?"

"She didn't want to dance, merely did it for her mother. She wanted to be with the man she loved. And he killed for her. Because of love."

Finally, he was getting her signal. Taking a step towards Brennan, Booth cupped her face with both hands, forcing her gently to look up.

"Our victim was killed by a man. With bare hands. He took her life. She wasn't killed by a sentiment, she was killed by a human being. And, yes, the guy was in love. But it never dawned on him that they simply could have run away. _People_ do stupid things, Bones."

"Maybe we did something stupid as well, Booth," she dared to whisper with big eyes, and he wanted to hug her, wanted to hug her so much.

Booth shook his head.

"What we did wasn't stupid, just how we did it. But the things we did? No, they were bound to happen anyways. I know that now."

"You do?"

"You've complicated my life ever since I first saw you in that crowded lecture hall. So beautiful, so feisty. I've been falling for you for a long time and I wouldn't want it any other way. You offered me a chance, and you were right. Follow the evidence, you said. I did. And I'm here. I'm right here."

He was still holding her face in his hands, caressing her cheeks with his thumbs, and her bottom lip trembled ever so slightly. Finally she grunted rather ungracefully.

"I hate feelings," she complained while rolling her eyes, and he laughed out.

"No you don't."

She poked his sternum with her finger.

"I hate you for making me feel."

"I make you feel?"

"Don't be so cocky about it."

"I have to, it's written on my belt buckle."

"Don't tease me."

"Bones? What kind of stuff do I make you feel?"

"Everything. Too much of everything."

Joy rushed through his veins, and he pulled her into his arms.

"I love you, Bones. You know that, right?"

She inhaled sharply and went very still in his embrace. He shook her a little bit.

"Breathe."

Slowly, very slowly, her arms came around his back, hugging him for all she was worth.

"Booth," she murmured into his shirt, and he stroked her hair, her back, her arms.

"I... Y _ou_... I feel the same."

Lowering his head, he buried his nose in her hair, inhaling deeply. They stood like this for a long time, helplessly entangled. They've hugged before, countless times, but this time, there was no pretext. It was a hug that meant everything, and there was no need to pretend anything else.

 _His heart on the table. Right next to hers._

When they finally let go of each other, their hearts had found a matching rhythm and the shape of her body was forever imprinted in his arms.

She rewarded him with a bright smile, and he had to feel it on his lips. So he kissed her. Softly, thoroughly – just like he should have kissed her yesterday, like he'd wanted to kiss her all along. There was no need to hurry, for they had time. She tasted sweet and exquisite, and he reveled in this moment.

Open, she was so open; her tongue caressing his, her breath on his lips, her hand curled around his nape.

Brennan noticed the tiny hairs on his neck and the roughness of his cheeks. He had showered as well, but beneath the freshness of shampoo and shower gel, she could still find the unique scent that was him; the one she would recognize anywhere.

Booth loved her. Her head was spinning somehow, but it was a good kind of dizziness, a very good kind. She loved him. While the feeling itself wasn't even new, had secretly been part of them for quite a while now, acknowledging it was. Breaking the kiss, she traced his lips with her fingers, caressed his jawline, his chin, followed the curve of his neck to his shoulders. She'd always been in awe of his structure.

"I love your prominent mental protuberance," she admitted, and his lips curved up in a beautiful smile.

"I love it when you talk squinty."

"The ration between the width of your clavicle and your ilia is perfect."

"So you think I'm hot?" he lowered his lips to her neck, nuzzling the sensitive skin there, effectively distracting her.

"Yes. Very hot," she breathed, and her hands slipped under his shirt, finally touching his bare skin.

"Booth... While I don't regret yesterday's encounter, I'm feeling contrite about some things. Will you take off your shirt, please?"

Her candid question touched him deeply, and he dove in for another kiss before replying: "You don't have to ask. Never."

He lifted his arms, allowing her to pull the shirt over his head. It was forgotten before it even hit the floor. Taking another step towards him, she pressed her cheek to his chest. Strong; so strong and smooth at the same time. She listened to his heartbeat for a few instants before turning her head, mapping his torso with her lips. His pecs twitched under her attention and his nipples hardened. Her mouth found a patch of scarred skin, and she kissed the spot where the bullet had once entered his chest, finally soothing the old pain.

For a moment, she lifted her head, searching his eyes; found them watching her reverently.

"I'm so glad you didn't die back then."

"You were on the list, they were supposed to tell you. I'm so sorry."

They'd had that dialogue before, and she simply nodded, putting away the past. She surprised him by taking off her shirt next, but before he could enjoy the view properly, she was flush to his body. Wrapping his arms around her happened without even thinking.

"Skin to skin. I've missed this," she confessed after a while, and he couldn't get enough of her softness, her warmth. His hands roamed over her arms, her back, her sides, and everywhere they went, more perfect skin was found.

"I've missed this, too. The sex... it was great because it was us, but there are so many things we left out. I didn't see your breasts, didn't kiss your stomach. I didn't show you how much you mean to me."

"Making love," she whispered, and he nodded.

"Yes. I didn't walk the talk."

She stepped out of the circle of his arms and offered him her hand.

"Let's walk together then."

-BONES-

The way to her bedroom wasn't that long, but they had to stop a few times to kiss. His shoes and pants were lost somewhere, her leggings as well, and when they finally reached her bed, nothing but their underwear was between them.

She'd seen him in boxers before, but this time, she was collecting a completely different kind of evidence. She already knew that she was affecting him, for she had noticed a prominent bulge behind the checkered cloth. He was familiar, so intimately familiar, but everything was new at the same time. The way his breath hitched, when her palms ran down his stomach. The contrast of his naked skin next to hers.

 _Evidence._

There was tenderness in his gestures, as he lowered her to the mattress, and he covered her body without restricting her. He removed her underwear with infinite care, and upon seeing her completely naked for the first time, he stilled, studying her like a fine piece of art. No one had ever looked at her like this before, and the intensity in his eyes was almost palpable.

 _Evidence of something big._

His voice was awe-struck, as he finally spoke.

"You're so beautiful."

She'd been called "beautiful" before, but she'd never sensed it like this, had never believed someone so wholeheartedly. And everything he felt, everything he saw in her – it was reflected right back at him through her eyes.

 _Evidence of love._

"I love you, Booth," she said, and even though he knew it, hearing the exact words set him free somehow. His metaphoric heart expanded impossibly, and he enveloped her until she was safer than ever before.

"So in love, I'm so in love with you," he whispered into her ear, caressing her hair, kissing her cheeks, her nose, her eyelids, her lips; finally her lips.

Reaching between them, she tugged at his boxers until this last piece of garment was finally gone as well. She could feel him everywhere, and it seemed as if he was caressing every inch of her body at once. He was hovering above her, peppering kisses over her breasts, her stomach, her inner thighs – doing all the things he'd missed last night, taking his sweet time to reduce her to a boneless puddle of sensations. He was learning her, she realized, cataloging every reaction, filing it away.

"Oh God," she hissed, as he finally kissed her in the most intimate way ever, down there where everything was throbbing, and she tugged at his head. "You don't have to."

He looked up at her with dark eyes.

"Let me please?"

Her resistance crumbled, and her thighs fell open for him. She'd never been particularly fond of oral stimulation before, had always felt uncomfortably exposed, but this time it was Booth pleasuring her, and it changed everything. His tongue set her ablaze, and she wanted to spread her legs even wider, wanted everything he had to offer.

Trust, it must be the trust, Brennan mused, and it was her last coherent thought for a while. He chose that moment to suck firmly while pressing two fingers into her body, and she was gone. Lightning and thunder rushed through her veins, and she cried out helplessly, his name on her lips.

Between her legs, he was lying on his elbows, studying her. Long lashes cast dark shadows on rosy cheeks and a fine layer of sweat covered her chest. Next to her, her fists held the sheets in a vice-like grip and her breathing was ragged. I've done this, he thought, and primeval pride filled him. He was hard, so hard; just from watching her come apart.

When she finally opened her eyes, she rewarded him with a lazy smile.

"'Thank you' seems inadequate."

He lowered his head one more time, pressing a last kiss to her inner thigh before crawling up.

"My pleasure, Bones."

Her eyebrow arched up, as she opened her arms for him.

"Literally?"

He chuckled.

"Well... no."

Using the strength of her legs, she flipped them over until she was sprawled out on top of him. Sitting on him like this, she could feel his hardness against her overheated core. Circling her hips, she caressed the length of him with her whole body, and he gasped.

Her voice was husky, as she spoke: "Booth, I'd like to return the favor. Very much. But... later. I want to feel you inside of me again and I can't wait."

He nodded breathlessly, taking in her breasts, her face, her silky hair, the triangle of short curls below her navel; looking everywhere at once because he simply couldn't decide where to look first. His pupils dilated, as she lifted herself a few inches, as she took him into her hand, squeezing a few times before positioning herself.

Right before lowering herself, before joining them, she stilled for a moment, watching this man she was so fond of. She'd always found him pleasing to look at, but now she realized that everything she'd looked at was merely the tip of the iceberg. He was perfection to her. His skin smooth and bronze, his broad chest leading to a flat stomach and narrow hips. His erection was impressive, and something inside of her clenched in anticipation. However, the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen might be his face twisted in passion.

"Booth... look at me," she demanded, and his eyes glazed over, as she finally sunk down until they were so completely connected.

"Yes," he sighed, and his hands flew to her hips, holding her firmly in place. Bending forwards, she sought his mouth; sought and found.

And like that, impossibly close to each other, she finally started to move. It was the most intimate dance ever, a dance as age-old as mankind itself. Without hesitation, he picked up her rhythm, pushing even deeper into her perfect warmth.

His hands left her hips, roaming over her body until cupping her full breasts, kneading softly. She moaned, and every drop of blood in his body rushed southwards.

"Breaking the laws of physics," she murmured against his lips, and he smiled, understanding her reference.

"Occupying the same space, Babe."

He surprised her by turning them around, and suddenly she found him towering above her. Without thinking twice, she wrapped her legs around his back, allowing him to enter her even deeper.

Her lips curved up.

"You had to do that, right?"

"Yeah, I had to."

"Alpha male."

He tilted his hips, hitting her in the perfect spot. A gasp left her mouth.

"You mind?"

"Shut up," she panted, and he gave her his trademark cocky grin.

Her hands found his firm ass, pulling him even tighter into her, and Booth was slowly spiraling out of control. It was too much, just too much. The sight of her so wantonly beneath him, the scent of her mingling with the scent of him; with the scent of sex. Her body – full and soft and for him, just for him. He groaned, burying his head in the crook of her neck, licking her skin.

"Close... so close," he managed to say, and reaching between their bodies, she cupped his balls.

" _Fuck_ ," he hissed, twitching helplessly. "Bones! You?"

"Come for me," she pleaded, urging him on.

Gently, very gently, her fingernails grazed his scrotum, and he had no choice.

In a powerful rush, he found release so deep inside of her; his joy triggering her own, as she followed him over the brink. Then they were falling and catching each other like it was meant to be.

They'd made love.

-BONES-

He was crushing her a bit, but she didn't mind. His weight on top of her made it real somehow, and her fingers drew lazy patterns on his back. He was still breathing unevenly, blood ringing in his ears.

The first thing he noticed was her hair tickling his nose. Oh shit, he was dead weight on her, Booth finally realized. He tried to roll over, but she wouldn't let him go.

"One more minute," she mumbled, and he surrendered.

"I don't think I can move anyways."

"Are you... you are staying the night, aren't you?"

"You bet."

She nestled deeper into his embrace, sighing contently. Eventually, she wriggled beneath him, and he turned until they were both on their sides, facing each other. Raising a hand, he tucked an unruly curl behind her ear.

"I've missed this as well," he said. "Pillow talk"

Brennan knitted her brow.

"I think I've never wanted to share the post-coital bliss before."

He took her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers.

"But you want that now?"

She lifted their joint hands to her lips, kissing his knuckles.

"Very much so."

"Bones?"

"Yes?"

"You're cute. You're also smart and sexy and beautiful and stubborn, but right now, lying next to me in wrinkled sheets, you're simply adorable. Your hair's a mess, but you don't even care. You're just smiling at me."

"Well, maybe that's because I think you're cute as well."

"Nah. Men are not cute."

"Alright, you're very un-cute and male then."

"Are you making fun of me?"

He watched her in mock indignation, and she giggled. Leaning in, she kissed him softly.

"Booth, where do we go from here?"

"Do we have to go anywhere? Let's just... go to sleep. Wake up next to each other. Bicker about pancakes versus oatmeal. Go to work and catch some bad guys. Have a drink. Go back home. Make love. Fall asleep. You get the idea."

Brennan put her head on his chest, and he wrapped his arm around her. She hummed.

"I like that. I like that very much."

A yawn split her face, and Booth pulled her blanket over their bodies, covering them.

"Just a nap," she murmured drowsily, and he placed a kiss on her temple.

"Sweet dreams, Bones."

 _For the night is the day only sleeping  
And the moon will return as the sun  
I'll be here while the wait is upon you  
I'll be here when the morning comes._

To be continued...

 _Next one's the epilogue._


	6. Epilogue

VI. Epilogue

The case with the diamond in the rough made headlines, and three weeks later, Hodgins' article was published in the Forensic Journal. Angela insisted on a night out to celebrate the occasion and Cam suggested a little jazz club, so Friday night found the whole gang gathered around a table, in their middle a very expensive looking bottle.

Glasses were raised and toasts were drunk, as they were sharing a drink called friendship.

"To Hodgins!"

"To us!"

"To diamonds!"

"A speech! We want a speech from the King."

Hodgins cleared his throat.

"Well, dear friends, as they say, diamonds are a scientist's best friend."

"Dude, nobody ever said that."

"Hey, don't ruin my speech. So, three weeks ago..."

The speech and the teasing went on, but two among them stopped paying attention, as Booth found Brennan's hand under the table.

Three weeks.

For three weeks they'd done just what he'd proposed that first night in her apartment. Mundane things like washing the dishes next to each other or preparing breakfast. Mighty things like sharing a shower, a bed and passion. They'd made love sixteen times – not that he was still counting. He'd had tofu for lunch, she'd tried apple pie. They'd agreed to never ever do that again. Some of his suits had found their way into her closet, and he'd emptied a drawer for her in his apartment.

Seeley Booth and Temperance Brennan were happy; the honeymoon and spring blossom kind of happiness only new lovers know. So far, they hadn't shared the new relationship status with their friends, but while caressing his inked wrist, she wondered if that was about to change.

Turning her head, she eyed him curiously, and he winked at her.

The band chose that moment to begin their set, and the group fell silent for a while, listening to the saxophone.

"Beautiful," Cam whispered.

A slightly tipsy Angela poked her friends.

"Brenn, Booth, since you practiced so much for that undercover job, why don't you show off a little bit? You've got an audience."

The partners looked at each other and shrugged.

"Why not. You wanna dance, Bones?"

"Absolutely."

He guided her to the dance floor with his hand on her back, and Angela sighed.

"They're so beautiful together."

It was a song like a river – sometimes wide and torrential, sometimes tame and burbling; it was jazz. Booth and Brennan managed to follow the rhythm step for step, moving like one person. He was guiding her gently, she was following effortlessly. When she put her head on his shoulder, a mutual sigh was heard among the group watching them.

"So, sex or no sex?" Cam asked.

"Sex!" came the unanimous reply.

"Well, anyone brave enough to ask?"

"Just refill my glass."

"Or maybe we don't have to ask anymore."

Booth and Brennan were still dancing, but without breaking the flow, their lips had met. It was a kiss just like the music; sometimes sweet, sometimes passionate.

"Holy shit, to quote Dr. Brennan: 'There is tongue contact.'" Sweets managed to utter.

Eventually, the last tone filled the air, and the song faded away. On the dance floor, two lovers shared a smile, and he nudged her nose with his own.

"I guess what goes on between us is not just ours anymore. Are you ready?"

She nodded, pecking his lips one more time.

"It's on."

Hand in hand, they went back to their table, meeting expectant eyes and broad smiles.

"You wanna share something with the group?" Angela asked, her face beaming like the Fourth of July.

Brennan nodded.

"Yes. It's love. We love each other."

Booth wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close.

"She's my girl," he declared proudly.

Her head flung around.

"I'm not a girl."

"Bones, don't ruin my moment."

"Your moment? It's not as if you've won me like a prize. In fact, if I recall correctly, it was I who-"

He cut her off with a kiss, a kiss so deep and intimate that she had to wrap her hands around his biceps to stay grounded. He kissed her until words had lost their meaning, until their whole world was reduced to this very moment. And they kept on kissing, even as modesty turned tail and fled; kept kissing, as glasses were refilled and raised.

"To Booth and Brennan," Hodgins proclaimed.

"To love," Cam added.

"And to dancing."

The encyclopedia says: "Dance is a performing art form consisting of purposefully selected sequences of human movement. This movement has aesthetic and symbolic value and is acknowledged as 'dance' by performers and observers within a particular culture."

They've been dancing for years, Booth and Brennan, dancing around each other to a song full of longing and possibilities. Hope had been a note, desire another one. Respect and friendship had been their clef. Finally, at last, they were dancing together.

And it was beautiful.

So beautiful.

The end.

 _Yeah, I did it. I didn't know I still had it in me. Thanks for following this piece, I've had so much fun with our beloved characters._


End file.
